aking our fast, we followed
them.

A woman was walking ahead of us, with, a child in her arms, a little
girl of six or seven years tugging at her skirt. They were a very quiet
trio.

I noticed that the woman wore a bit of black crape on her hat, and
there was something in her face that inclined me to stop and speak to
her.

"You look young to have two children," I said.

"Yes'm; I aint twenty yet," she said, shifting the great boy to the
other arm.

"And you are in mourning."

"Yes'm. I've lost Jim. He was a good husband, a real steady man; never
drunk nor nothin'. Him and me'd knowed each other ever sence we were
little uns. We was raised in Edinburgh, miss, and come over when we was
married. Then Jim got sick, and it cost all we brought to cure him. So
we came up here a year ago, and was doing quite well, miss."

"Was it an accident in the mines?" I ventured to ask.

"Oh, no, miss, it was a cruel murder; he was killed by them Molly
Maguires!" and her lips trembled, and the tears started to her eyes.

[Illustration (mine-1) In the Mine]

I was sorry I had asked her, and was silent from sympathy.

"They're all very good to me about here. They've give me something to
do, and Ruby, here, takes care of the baby like a little woman while I'm
in the mine at work."

"Why, what can you possibly do?"

"Oh, a good many little odd jobs,--throwing the lumps out of the
passages, and doing whatever comes to hand,--helping to load sometimes.
I'm very glad to get it.

"They talk of raising me some money to buy a bit shanty," she added. "I
can pick up a little to do, perhaps, then, that'll keep me out of the
mine. It don't seem to be a woman's place, somehow. Not but what they're
all very respectful and kind."

"Are there other women there?"

"Not many in this mine. Over on the hill where the men struck once or
twice, there's a-many, and some of 'em do men's work; but a woman had
better be home if she's got a home."

The sentiment found an echo in my heart as I looked on the pale,
sorrowful face, so commonplace, yet so interesting, from its very
sadness.

Down in the Mines.

"Wouldn't you like to go in?" she asked. "Ladies do, sometimes."

She placed the child in the arms of the girl,--a quiet little thing, and
I followed her into the side of the hill, already thickly covered with
working men, with the star of light burning on their foreheads, so faint
and blue in the sunshine, so bright in the darkness.